Coven Sense Ain't Common
by Reading4soul
Summary: Book 7 Div to AU. When he planned a MoM break-in, Harry thought he'd anticipated the worst-case scenario. Somehow interdimensional travel, encounters with not so charming angels and the chaos of San Fran weren't what he'd expected. Can you really blame him?
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Coven Sense Ain't Common  
**Genre**: Charmed/HP crossover  
**A/N**: Takes place in divergent HP 7th year, after the trip to Godric's Hollow, but before Ron came back. In Charmed timeline takes place during Season 7. Also, to clear things up before we start out: I've put the reality of Charmed and that of Harry Potter on parallel worlds (courtesy of Charmed Season 6 finale.) Beta'd by Seers, whom I owe big time. Ah, and please ignore the dots that make up blank rules: for some reason the html button got an 'access denied' :p  
**Spoilers**: Everything a.k.a HP book 1-7, Charmed season 1-7.  
**Disclaimer**: HP characters and situations belong to J.K. Rowling, as Charmed belongs to Constance M. Burge & WB.

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**Part 1**

_All Faith is false, all Faith is true:  
Truth is the shattered mirror strown  
In myriad bits; while each believes  
His little bit the whole to own._

-- Sir Richard Francis Burton

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'_When _will _you learn not to touch an unknown magical object?_' Part of Harry's conscience, which sounded like Hermione at her bossiest right now, asked rhetorically in her best '_honestly, boys are so hopeless_' voice as he struggled against the magical pull in order to get _back_. He knew by her alarmed cry that Hermione had seen him slip through the mirrors' surface. He just hoped that she hadn't attracted half the ministry employees to the site, because the last thing she needed was being found by a bunch of Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. At least the wand he'd borrowed from her had slipped through his fingers as he was pulled into the liquid surface of the ancient frame, so hopefully she'd be able to defend herself long enough to Apparate out. While he was thankful for small mercies, the flip side of the Galleon also meant that he was now whisked off to who knew where while completely defenceless.

The whole experience he was caught up in felt somewhat similar to diving into a Pensive, and so he found himself carried along in a thick tangible torrent of magical substance. It felt almost alive, and shone and sparkled different shades of white, gold, silver and blue in a way that might have been a wonderful sight to behold, had it not been so bright that Harry had to squint his eyes to preserve them. A cacophony of thousands of voices assaulted his ears, not loud but incoherent from their multiplicity, as seemingly eternal milliseconds passed. The smell that lingered on the air held the odd combination of chocolate, grass, spice and mould; almost as if his subconscious ideas about Light and Dark magic respectively had been brought to life. Harry briefly wondered if Sirius had felt something like this when passing through the Veil.

He tried to physically turn around, clawing at the undeniable current that carried him along like a tidal wave, yet slipped through his seeking fingers when grasped. He wanted – needed - to find the way he'd come from, but the twisting waves formed such a dense swirling mass around him that in the blink of an eye he couldn't tell up from down anymore. He couldn't even sense which direction he was being pulled as the feeling had completely surrounded him, and he imagined this might be what a person drowning at sea felt like.

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Just as unexpected as the sensation had started, it ended when the flow of magic spat him out like a gross Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Bean. At least Quidditch practice had acquainted Hogwarts' youngest Seeker with the sensation of tumbling onto a hard surface at break neck speed, so he had little problem rolling along with the motion and hopefully prevent some broken bones. And here he'd thought Flooing was a dizzying and disorienting mode of transport. The air shifted around him as he sat up to take in his, thankfully, barren surroundings. Something definitely felt _off_, but at least he could no longer hear the voices. In fact, the only sound to reach his ears was his own harsh breathing.

Picking himself up from the rough floor, he tried to spot any other form of life. If there were Death Eaters around here, wherever here was, then he was in serious trouble. His senses seemed dulled, as if blanketed, instead of the adrenaline he'd expected from the mounting awareness that something was wrong. Now that he thought about it, the colours in this place were messed up too: everything seemed suspended in dreary greyness. His wand hand twitched out of reflex as he waited for that something, for _anything_ to happen.

"Why are you here?"

Heart skipping a beat, Harry spun around to stare at the figure who had addressed him. A middle-aged man with lank brown hair and blank blue eyes looked back at him calmly. He didn't look especially threatening, not even in his all black outfit, which wasn't all that different from Snape's favourite attire, but still...unless this was some elaborate trap set by Voldemort, Harry didn't think the person in front of him was a Death Eater. He lacked a certain eagerness that all the Dark Lord's minions excluded in their confidence that they were creating a better world. Nevertheless, there was something about this man that made Harry want to back up, just to put as much space between them as he could. It was ridiculous really, he'd faced down Voldemort more times than any other wizard he knew (perhaps with the sole exception of Dumbledore,) and here he was wanting nothing more than to turn tail and run from this apathetic person.

"I haven't got all day, you know." The man interrupted his musings. "Many souls need to be collected and you have no reason to be here as you are not on my list."

A murderer then, or a serial killer more like it, if all this talk of claiming souls was anything to go by. So he'd best keep the man talking until he discovered a way out. "I didn't mean to come here." He straightened his glasses out as he spoke, so as to keep this unsettling person in focus. "It just…happened." _No wonder the professors never bought your excuses, Potter._ And now his inner sarcasm was being vocalized by a Malfoy. Could this day get any more perfect? "Who are you anyway?"

Though the person's expression didn't disclose anything, he answered in a tone that made it clear he'd been asked the same question many times before and this wouldn't be the last time either. "I am the Angel of Death. Can't say I've met any of your family before." As the Angel didn't work completely solo - the waiting-list would have upturned the cosmic balance otherwise - this didn't surprise him.

Harry, however, had stopped listening after the 'Death' tidbit. "But I can't die yet! Voldemort-"

The Angel waved him off, unconcerned. "They all say that. However, you need to learn to listen. I just informed you that you are _not_ on my list, therefore you aren't supposed to die."

Harry was torn between a small dose of relief and a great dislike of the self-righteous bastard, who was pointing out one of his major flaws. As he opened his mouth to protest, Death held up his hand to forestall the argument. "It does not concern me. Just know that next time we meet you _will_ come with me."

With those words a great pressure slammed into Harry's chest, lifting him off his feet and up. The Angel vanished from his line of sight. All of a sudden the sound vacuum ceased to be and the loud noise of city life filled his ears as he breached the next plain of reality. He had a fraction of a second to both be grateful of his escape from the clutches of Death, and wonder about his sanity as he pushed himself up against salted, cold asphalt. Even as he made the connection between the road he was now standing on and the busy traffic that occupied it at this time of day, a red SUV swerved to avoid his prone figure, and thus ended up hitting the front of a passing patrol car on the next lane instead. For a moment Harry could only stare, his brain still trying to catch up on all the reality hopping his body had just been subjected to. At least he had enough presence of mind to get onto the snow-dusted sidewalk in one piece. The crash, luckily only collateral damage as far as he could tell from where he stood on the opposite side of the street, was starting to attract attention from commuting passers-by. As Harry made to get away from the scene – he couldn't get involved with Muggles over something as minor as this, a strong hand grabbed his biceps in a vice-grip and pulled him back. The hand was attached to a muscled black man, who as it turned out had been a passenger in the accident.

"I don't think so, buddy."

And who, with Harry's rotten luck, turned out to be a cop flashing his badge.

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Darryl narrowed his eyes at the stubborn teen in front of him as he witnessed Inspector Sheridan threatening the kid. He was half tempted to just believe this was another peer pressure case, same old 'let's bait the cops' game that the fool expected to get away with it. The other part, the one that tended to plead with him and using the voices of either his granny, his momma or his wife. Told him that no, he hadn't imagined it when he'd glimpsed the guy in his peripheral vision as the teen just popped out of nowhere in the middle of the street. That part was nagging at him to go get a cup of coffee and call the Halliwell sisters for help.

The scrawny teen was pathetically inadequate when it came to either answering questions satisfactory or dodging them altogether, but he did have the whole 'I don't give a damn, so spare me the threats' attitude down.

"So you're saying you're not from the US and you don't have any valid ID on you?" Sheridan summed the first line of questioning. "That makes you an illegal immigrant, young man."

The kid – claiming to be one Neville Longbottom, and if that wasn't a fake name Morris didn't know what was – just snorted, equally unimpressed. Sure, his accent was outlandish enough to truly originate from the UK as the guy also claimed, and yet…

"And you have no idea why you jumped in front of that car?" The obsessive inspector lashed out again with biting scepticism. Neville just sat back, eyes closing, nursing his temples, either faking or experiencing a tension headache.

"See here, pal." Darryl's blond 'partner' snapped. "You're obstructing an official investigation. That means you're facing jail time. So now you're gonna tell me exactly who you are, how you got here, and why you thought it funny to go road jumping."

Deep green eyes snapped back open, and for the briefest moment of a second, Darryl swore they turned ruby red. "No, I bloody well won't!" Then he huddled back, arms wrapped around his slender frame, hands trembling slightly before he clenched them, his skin paling from sun-shy to pasty.

Sheridan sniffed in disdain but smelled upcoming victory. Darryl however, tensed as he reasserted the three pieces of information he'd obtained. One, the guy had appeared out of nowhere – a feat only magical beings could manage. But more telling; two, the guy didn't have any form of legal ID on his person, nor could his alias or DOB be found in any database. And finally, three; the guy had red eyes when angered. In Darryl's experience with the supernatural, the only conclusion was that he was dealing with a demon here. Which meant he had to get the would-be-killer out of there before Sheridan and himself, or worst-case-scenario, the entire office became toast. Literally.

Mind made up, Morris excused himself to go get some coffee.

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**TBC**

**A/N**: I've started this little bunny a year ago, had it up on another site. If there's interest I might continue (I haven't got past chapter two yet.) ^^; Either way, I love hearing your thoughts about this.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: IMPORTANT - I thought the idea of a tiara for a Horcrux, even if it was Ravenclaw's, a bit petty of dear old Tom, so I opted for Rowena's bronze mirror instead (not handheld format, I'm thinking Erised proportions – and bronze because glass mirrors were I believe something of 17th century or later.) My reason for this choice was **a)** because there are a number of legends surrounding mirrors. Ex. remember the Basilisk's eyes reflected in Hermione's little mirror 2nd year? I think there's a hint to Medusa's mythology there. Also, mirrors have been employed as symbols of 'truth' (newspaper names, even Charmed's The Bay Mirror) and deception. Second, **b)** you can apparently use mirrors for scrying in Wiccan witchcraft (see Wiki). And **c)** in Charmed S6 we saw the introduction of very similar parallel worlds through Gideon's mirror.

Also, don't worry: I try to avoid OC's as much as possible. Any OC you see (they're mostly confined to this chapter as it is) is nothing but an _extra_ and thus won't have any real 'screen-time' or lines. Ah, and because this seemed to be a common concern: no, there won't be slash in this story. I like to focus on plot and prefer gen, meaning that pairings will only be implied and they'll be canon for Charmed and mostly nonexistent for HP. Once again, this was beta'd by Seers, all hail! ;)

**Disclaimer**: HP characters and situations belong to J.K. Rowling, as Charmed belongs to Constance M. Burge & WB.

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**Part 2**

_Reality is not always probable, or likely._  
- Jorge Luis Borges

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It was Paige who answered the Manor's phone, apparently called away from her latest temp job, if the racket in the background of breakable things crashing to the floor was anything to go by.

"Hi, Darryl, now's not really a good time." Despite a hint of urgency in her tone, she still managed to come across as if she was more than used to these family emergencies. Then again, Morris wouldn't be surprised if some Big Bad attacked the girls weekly, so most likely this was just a normal risky routine. Having foreseen her '_can I call you back later?_' response – really, it was the one he most frequently got whenever trying to contact the Halliwell's – the cop took a deep breath, then said as fast as he could, "This time it can't wait. I got a demon here at precinct."

That certainly got her attention, even as the background chaos dimmed down to manageable levels. "Wait, _what_?"

"So I'd appreciate it if one of you girls could come and bail him out. I can't have you vanquish him on the spot, because of Sheridan. But I don't want to see the boys here get barbequed either. And if possible I'd like to go home to Sheila tonight without the she-bulldog cornering me."

There was a brief pause. The sound of the receiver being muffled was followed by some back and forth supposedly inquisitive yelling, followed by a loud reply over and forth; the Charmed Ones communicating across the hall, sun room fand kitchen. Morris couldn't help counting the seconds on his watch as he waited. She got back to him in fifteen seconds, a new record for swiftness. "I'll be right there."

Darryl breathed a small sigh of relief. "Good. Just hurry."

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_Hell hath no furry like a woman scorned. 'Or like a woman denied answers_,' Harry reflected as he looked the agitated female officer over once more. At first he'd shrugged off the way she lay into him as her just trying to do her job. Except that as his interrogation proceeded rather unsuccessfully, Harry noticed how the determined gleam in her light eyes crossed the borderline of obsession and snuggled close to the first hint of fanatical. If she'd ever been trying to gain his trust she'd sure as hell wasted that chance by now. Really, pissing him off – fair enough that was largely caused by the Dark Lord's fury, which had echoed across their link and had nothing to do with the unsuspecting Muggle – was not productive for either of them. Merlin's Beard, what he wouldn't give for some pepper-up potion and a measure of peace and quiet.

Contemplating his options concerning the irate inspector, Harry gave in to the urge of tapping his fingers on the desk in front of him in an aggravated imitation of River dance. They'd confiscated his Moke-skin pouch upon his arrest, meaning they had his snapped (and thus as useless as one of the Twins' rubber chicken gags) Phoenix wand. The bright side however, was that none but Harry could open that pouch and he'd amused himself, briefly, with how stumped that would leave these people and to which absurd methods they might have reverted to in order to pry it open. Now however, Sheridan had placed said precious item in front of her on the table, waiting for a reaction which he was determined not to give her.

While it was true that his current wandless situation was easier to bear in Muggle company than at a Death Eater raid, Harry still lamented the lost opportunity of a well-placed Obliviate. Then again, if he broke the Secrecy Statute, wouldn't the local magical government be forced to clean up the mess anyway? He was now labelled as an illegal, potentially criminal x-factor; no way were these people just going to let him walk. They weren't big believers in the sharing of information either. All he'd gleaned from the Muggles was his current location (downtown San Francisco, CA.)

Much more informative had been Voldemort's emotional outburst once he learned that his servants had let Harry (and, thank all that is good, Hermione - or so the first Death Eater to have arrived at DoM admitted under the Cruciatus) escape _again_. Still, that meant his friend was somewhere out there all on her own, not knowing what had happened to him (to be honest, he was still trying to figure that one out himself,) saddled with Slytherin's locket and the practically impossible task of locating the others. This didn't exactly amount to the progression they'd hoped to achieve today.

They had thought they might have located another Horcrux, – their reason for risking a visit to the Department of Mysteries in the first place, but they hadn't confirmed their suspicions yet when Harry had stupidly let his curiosity get the better of him in the Hall of Mirrors. Still, their assumption made sense in a twisted way. The mirror they'd come looking for was said to have been Rowena Ravenclaw's; a little fact that would have no doubt appealed to Riddle. And where better to hide it than in plain sight? Figuratively speaking at least. After all, the DoM's collection of magical seeing glasses was not only ever growing, but also, if Hermione had remembered correctly, had not been catalogued since 1681. Tom would have been pleased. If anyone even guessed where to look – and why should they know in the first place? – Then they'd be tracking a doxy-sized needle in a giant's haystack. Not the best of odds to be up against.

Harry mentally shook his head. Now was not the ideal time to dwell on such matters. What he should be thinking about was how the hell to get out of the situation he'd got himself landed in. For the past quarter hour, he'd been playing the 'you have the right to remain silent card' whenever he thought he might get away with it. It wasn't like he could pull a "_If you're seriously accusing me of anything, then don't I have a right to a solicitor_?" Harry could vividly imagine the heated '_you're damn right I am accusing you_' glare he'd get for such a remark. Sure, the tactic might shut her up for a while, but he'd still be stuck in the same proverbial heap of dragon dung.

The conclusion Harry came to was to Apparate the hell out of there (one of the few meagre magical feats that could be managed without a wand.) Thus, with his full Determination fixed on his (De)liberation from the Muggle police, he planned to go to the most logical Destination: their camp site at the Forest of Dean. In the moment Lieutenant Morris came back into the interrogation room with two thin plastic cups of coffee, Harry lurched to his feet and made a wild grab for his Moke-skin pouch, spun on his heel and left two baffled lawmen behind with the satisfying crack of magical displacement.

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"What do you mean, you lost him?" Paige snapped over the phone, her mood now thoroughly spoiled. Having discussed the situation with her sisters, the youngest Charmed One had been about to orb over to go rescue the police station when Darryl had called again. She'd expected an '_we're on the clock here_' or even a '_could you please hurry, 'cause this demon is bringing down the building_.' She hadn't expected _this._

Shushing Phoebe who tried to listen in on the conversation, she let Darryl explain. Or rather she was giving him five seconds to try to before she was going to orb over there and chew him out in person. This was so not her day. "Ok, so…what?" And now they were back to regular routine; identify and conquer. "Did he flame out? Shimmer? Blink?"

"Excuse me?" Or perhaps not. "Since when do you know dance moves?" She took a moment to digest the next bit of Intel. "He 'pivoted and went out with a bang?' What are we dealing with here? The Demon of Cheap Disco Moves?" Phoebe's snort cut through Darryl's clipped response. "No, sorry, of course we're glad you're alright. Probably best for all the innocents there too. No, not counting the criminals. Uh-huh. Anything left we can scry with? Well, a hair is better than nothing. Sure, don't worry, we'll find him, vanquish his sorry ass and then maybe get back to our lives before the day is out. Thanks, Darryl." With an air of slight discontent, Paige hung up the phone.

Her older sister was looking at her with raised eyebrows and a small smile. "Book of Shadows?" Paige echoed the sentiment while she orbed over to their friend's location to retrieve the DNA sample.

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People say denial is a first step towards acceptance of loss. Harry didn't think he'd feel like accepting any of this any time soon. Why on earth was this happening? At first he'd been stumped, because why would Hermione move from their camping spot? He knew she knew that it was the only place he could be sure to meet up with her again, no matter the protective spells. At least there was the comfort knowing he'd know if she'd been found and killed, because Voldemort would be beaming. Or likewise, if the Dark Lord should choose to take her hostage, or just project false images of her supposed abduction simply because the scum knew how to push Harry's buttons. So after a fruitless search, he'd taken a bold risk and checked places closer to London to hear the latest news going around. By now he was sure; he was dreaming. Whatever that magical mirror had done, it must have knocked him out. There was just no other explanation for the fact that whole wizarding communities were suddenly non-existent. The biggest bomb shell might have been a Muggle construction site on the spot where Hogsmeade used to be, or the dead end where Diagon Alley was. And yet, he swore every now and then at random places he'd feel the same tingle of magic up his spine as he had the day he'd first touched a wand. It was perplexing, perturbing, unreal.

Feeling lost, Harry wandered around the unsettling normal forest in Scotland that had been a Forbidden centaur and unicorn habitat among other things when last he checked. He walked across the frost-covered, twig-strewn paths pondering his predicament and wondering how to escape this dream, coma, hallucination? He was weighing the pros and cons of trying to call on the Angel of Death when he heard the first sounds of a struggle. Harry didn't even pause before heading towards the noise. Seeing as this was a dream, nothing could happen to him, he reasoned.

The Boy-Who-Lived-'to try and stop the Dark Lord' wasn't sure what to expect anymore, but whatever his imagination could conjure up wasn't the sight that met him in the overshadowed glade. There must have been some sort of meeting of women of varying ages here – Harry counted twenty-four of them. However, he doubted they'd come here for a picnic or a tea party, if the way they were handling their attackers was anything to go by. Wherever he looked, the women where punching, kicking, throwing what must be potions or some odd spells at their fireball-flinging or sword-wielding opponents. A fair number of the tall, dark robed aggressors was overcome by flames and died what sounded like a painful death. Yet at the same time many a feisty female – _dare he call them witches?_ – were either hit or instantly killed by their adversaries' powers. Their faces bore grimaces of pain, but they seemed determined to go down fighting.

Unable to just watch and hide as the deathly battle raged and the sickly smell of burning flesh became heavy on the air, Harry spotted his chance when one of the dark ones went up in flames, dropping a wicked looking blade. Diving for the weapon the stray wizard threw himself into the fray. He quickly found out that swordplay wasn't precisely his forte. To be fair he'd only ever wielded one once before and at that time he'd been fighting on pure desperation to live.

This time he started out the fight with the desire to protect. However, as one of the larger sharp fanged creatures closed in on him with a Troll-sized double-edged axe, that desperation saw fit to return and pump adrenaline through his veins. Harry saw an opening in his opponents defence as his sword was deflected and the being – underestimating him – half spun around, intent on beheading one of the remaining women. The young man plunged his weapon into the tall one's chest; the black-eyed man spun back, even as flames spreading from within licked at his wound and he managed to graze Harry's left side with his axe before being consumed by the fire. Uncaring, the wizard turned to focus his attention on another evil but stumbled after two steps. It had to be the famous Harry Potter luck that his deceased opponent had coated his weapon with some sort of poison. A concoction, which to Harry's astonishment and dismay burned as fierce, if not worse than Basilisk venom. This predicament reduced Harry's comforting '_don't worry, none of this is real_' theory to dust. Pixie dust, rather, as his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

His vision wavered as his body – against his every command – dropped to the icy forest ground. He thought he saw blue light and then more fire and screams. Someone was stalking closer, energy ball gathered in his palm, looming over Harry – whose body didn't obey him to move – to finish him off, before that one too burst out of existence. Darkness was creeping up on him, no matter how many times he blinked. He was vaguely aware of someone else crouching down near him, arguing – audibly now that the fight was over – with another. Harry flinched when a cool hand touched his shoulder, and a voice somewhere high above him said, "Blessed be." Then there was nothing but the burning sensation spreading like Fiendfyre through his body and a cool bluish-white light.

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**TBC**

**A/N**: Special thanks to VeryStickyGlue, Julian Carax, dragon-girl40, crlncyln, FirePony16, Jinx313, whitwolf06, malko050987, henki8, ilyena-domodred, Stefni and My solitude for the encouraging reviews! ^_^ Comments are still appreciated and most welcome.

For any of you wondering: Harry got that pouch from Hagrid for his 17th birthday – Deathly Hallows, UK version.


	3. Chapter 3

**Timeline**: Takes place in divergent HP 7th year, after the trip to Godric's Hollow, but before Ron came back. In Charmed timeline takes place during Season 7.

**Rating**: PG-13 for mild language

**Spoilers**: HP book 1-7, Charmed season 1-8.

**Disclaimer**: HP characters and situations belong to J.K. Rowling, as Charmed belongs to Constance M. Burge & WB.

**A/N**: This chapter puts the 'A' in Q&A-chapter. With this euphemism I give you the chapter that should answer a number of questions that have been building up since the start. Ok, yes, it's a filler chapter. ^^; Anyway, major thanks to _LeonaWriter _for lending her beta services. ^^ Thanks for reviews go to malko050987, FirePony16, Days of Dour, Orange, tergis & henriette who motivated me to update faster. And finally thkx for the alerts and favs, it's nice to know people are enjoying this.

I recommend reading this with the Readability application, because of run-on sentences.

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**Part 3**

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_Acceptance is not submission; it is acknowledgment of the facts of a situation. Then deciding what you're going to do about it. _

- Kathleen Casey Theisen

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-x-x-x-x-

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When the highly feared and revered Dark Lord first learned of his followers failure to timely spot and consequently capture the Boy-Who-Lived-Beyond-His-Expiration-Date and his Mudblood _attachée_ in the heavily infiltrated Ministry of Magic, he had seen fit to remind them why they should strive to avoid his extreme displeasure.

As such, he coaxed more of the pathetic tale out of a stony faced yet weary-eyed Rodolphus Lestrange. Thus he learned of the exact location where the caretaker on his round - who had informed the nearest Unspeakable, who eventually got the grapevine going and thus word reached his spies – was rumoured to have spotted the boy. This in turn made his _disappointment_ at the incompetence of those around him spike into ire, while suspicion coiled around his mind. It should after all be impossible for Potter to have knowledge of such a closely guarded secret as his supreme immortality achievement. However, the boy must have spent a long time being in the ever-meddling Dumbledore's presence, prepped as he no doubt had been as the headmaster's guinea pig. Who knew how much the barmy yet brilliant fool had found out about _Tom_'s past and had the audacity to pass on before Severus had put an end to it. Even if the nuisance had the gall to try and find one of his Horcruxes, his chance of success was so non-existent it was laughable. And yet…with the boy's twice-cursed luck…

Slytherin's last heir wasn't about to take any unnecessary chances, not with the risk and opportunity of finally ridding himself of the pest involved. Yes, it was time to make some preparations. First, he reminded those of his inner circle stationed at the political seat of power precisely _why_ laxness and inattentiveness were not traits they should give into if they wished to continue to serve him. Ignoring their involuntary twitchiness after measures had been seen to, he called forth some of his - at least to date - more successful servants.

"Dolohov." It was a logical choice; the Death Eater in question had extended experience in getting rid of those close to blood traitors and opposing half-bloods alike. "Take Fenrir and a small number of whomever you need with you. You will track down Potter's precious Mudblood post-haste, even if you have to traipse all over England and ransack every hovel you come across along the way to accomplish it."

Not bothering to wait for compliance, which was a guaranteed fact if one pure enough to draw breath in the Dark Lord's exalted presence expected to keep on breathing, he turned his attention to another.

"Lucius, make sure Carrow informs Severus he is to take a short sick leave. Hogwarts' headmaster should live up to the nation's high expectations and assist me in a matter of the utmost importance."

Bellatrix' smothered curse of spite and jealousy was hard to miss during his momentary intake of breath and the silence that rang because of it. In a rare show of mercy – he simply couldn't be bothered with inner-circle pettiness – her irrelevant outburst was pointedly ignored. Snape and the Carrow siblings occupied powerful positions in charge of Hogwarts, where the right students would now get proper education – as Slytherin had intended all along. As such, he only called on them when their presence was essential. This was a need-to-know basis meeting with only those stationed in or near the ministry were obliged to attend and be informed of their shortcomings. The increasingly incompetent elder Malfoy might as well occupy his idle time being a messenger owl.

"Rookwood," This one, his spy at the Department of Mysteries had better make amends for his earlier oversight. "With your experience of the 'terrain,' it falls to you to prepare a welcome for our runaway _hero_." Contemplation and vindictiveness turned to utter disdain at the foolishness of the public for claiming the boy as such. "The boy has tempted fate for far too long."

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-x-x-x-x-

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Hermoine almost reverted to the nervous habit she'd had as a young child of chewing on the end strands of her frizzy hair. No matter what sort of risky or dangerous situations she had found herself in over the years, somehow they didn't seem to come even close to the dire consequences of today.

They had been spotted in the Hall of Mirrors and – loath though she was to abandon Harry – she couldn't risk capture at this point. Not when she was currently the only one on the side of freedom and civil rights who knew of the location of the Horcrux they had gone to investigate. The one they had already obtained hung like a great weight around her slender neck and only added to her overwrought state of mind.

She skimmed through Beedle's Tales at nigh frantic rate, looking for obscure clues that were unlikely to be there as these tales referred to the Hallows more than anything else. Torn between moving camp as a precaution and waiting for Harry to magically – pun intended – solve his problem through mere luck. It was one of Riddle's Horcruxes he was now trapped in – she refused to think it could have killed him, no matter the nay-saying glee of the locket that tried to choke the hope out of her – and with a measure of good fortune Harry's close connection to Voldemort might preserve his life in some twisted sense of kin. Also, there was no predicting whatever properties the magical seeing glass had possessed of its own before Riddle had perverted its purpose. It had initially been Ravenclaw's after all and as such the lady could have found use for such an object in a number of spells, incantations and rituals.

Snapping the fairytale volume shut in an uncharacteristic show of frustration, Hermoine went to scan the perimeter of the camp once more, wand clenched tight enough to leave imprints on her skin. She needed to sort her mind out, she needed more intel, a back-up plan and most of all she needed support. And then there was the risk of wearing the locket 24/7; if only Ron hadn't walked out on them… She mustered her flailing spirits. Now was not the time to sit still and despair. With a silent apology to Harry she started packing up camp and erasing their tracks. She could only hope he was all right and plan to further the cause. It was time to once more put some stock into the Weasley family and hope not to endanger their core too much. Right now, Bill was her best bet.

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-x-x-x-x-

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Consciousness played the fickle fairy for a while, Harry wasn't sure how long. At first the only thing he could be aware of was the agony that racked his body and left him alternatively flushed and shivering. If his awareness had extended beyond the all-encompassing sensation, he might have picked up on the fact that he was no longer lying on damp forest ground. He might have even picked up on the short argument of those around him before the pain gradually tempered off, cleansed by the most soothing magic he had ever come across. As it was he didn't, but his delirium eventually subsided, allowing his body to sink into a deeper, replenishing rest.

Bit and pieces of conversation came into on-off focus over time, not that it made any sense. Harry just absorbed it as he resisted shifting his weight on the soft surface he was draped over.

"…Seems healed…placed crystals though…"

Another voice picked up, a tad too soft for Harry to clearly understand or else simply beyond his sluggishly catching up perceptiveness. The first one continued with growing clarity.

"…Date with Kyle…Red or green? I think the red better fits my hair color, but it might send the wrong message. Green at least doesn't scream '_come pick me up_' or '_I intend to ravish you._' I don't want to scare him off."

_Ok, wait, what?_ Definitely _not_ Hermione. It was something he could imagine – well, no, he'd never imagine something like this, but he could _believe_ it was something Lavender and Parvati might discuss. The voices didn't sound like them though. Where was he anyway? The last thing he remembered…

Even as he dared to shift his body towards the noise, he tried to pick up identifying traits of his surroundings even before he started cracking his eyes open from where residue moisture had glued his lashes together. The air smelled of indoors, though it had a recently aired quality to it. There was a distinctly female scent on cotton surface his face was pressed against. Along with that there was a hint of leather to be found and he thought he could detect a faint whiff of fresh herbs and possibly something tart cooking. It was a great improvement on Petunia's chemically cleaned and bleached, spit spot household. It also had nothing going for a dark and damp theory, so unless Riddle had relocated to a far more pleasant place… A last tremor coursed through his body, forming goose bumps on his arms when he noticed the taste on his tongue. It was like how he imagined Dumbledore's power might have manifested when provoked and if one actually had the ability to experience magic on one's taste buds. Though Harry liked to fancy that Dumbledore's power would still carry some of his personality and fondness for sweets over. This taste though, it was one and a myriad. In a way it was somewhat comparable to his trip through the mirror though on an infinitely smaller scale. Where _that _sensation had been literally beyond total comprehension, this one was merely engulfing. It was both neutral yet utterly safe, and dangerous if provoked. It was warm, spicy and protective, wrought with the sweetness of laughter and anguish of tears. It was power, it was a haven, it was… oddly concentrated.

Finally his eyes obeyed his command to blink. An exclamation, a name? From nearby helped the process of focusing his vision. His first thought was a moment of gratefulness that he still had his glasses as they had apparently remained perched on his nose, though askew. As he stared at the two – no wait, hurried footsteps made that three – women regarding him, he had a sudden, asinine hope that he hadn't been drooling in his sleep and that Dean would be jealous if he was ever told of this escapade. Merlin's crooked toe, if Ginny matured to look like _that_… Reigning in his wandering thoughts, his first question was cut off before he could even begin to ask.

"Okay, Lancelot, here's what's going on," Harry blinked as the dark haired woman on the left, who was apparently in charge, spoke up. The sarcastic nickname might have moved him to correct her, but her serious tone reminded him vaguely of Professor McGonagall when a student failed to hand in an essay. The analogy was enough to make him somewhat cautious.

"The fact that you bleed," she waved a hand at his previously injured side where blood had clotted and crusted into his shirt. To Harry's surprise and relief the wound was simply gone, without even pinched skin to show for it. "It rules you being a demon out." The boy hoped his better chess face only showed confusion and not the utter incomprehension he was experiencing. The woman – hadn't one of the others called her Piper before she entered the room? – continued her explanation. It sounded more like he was being accused of a crime and she took the position of Wizengamot. Harry grimaced at the comparison; bad memories.

"Add to that that those innocents -" the woman on the far right spoke up in a brighter tone. The young wizard thought she was the one who had been talking men and wardrobes earlier. "The survivors of that coven vowed for your goodwill. Seeing as they are and were," here she briefly grimaced, "someone's charges, we have to take their word into consideration. At least," her tone pitched into what approached a sulk as she gazed heavenwards, "That is the quote from a bunch of white-robbed, grumpy-pants 'our game, our rules' up there. So that's why we healed you instead of letting the poison do its work." She concluded with a nod and a smile.

Before Harry completely processed this jumble of information, the middle one added her twopence to the one-sided conversation. "_But_ that doesn't mean you can't have tricked those witches to gain their – and thus in the end our – trust." Her voice wasn't so much accusatory as simply cautioning. "Which is why you're still in time-out." She pointed at the ground and Harry's gaze automatically tracked where she indicated. In a nigh perfect circle across the floor, headless of antique rugs or hardwood sat an even number of opaque, jagged crystals. The Boy-Who-Lived frowned. _And this was supposed to have any meaning or significance to him how?_

Piper apparently wasn't going to let him think on the mystery for too long. "There's no guarantee for us that you're not simply trying your luck at this gig to suck up to Zankou and we can't take any chances with the Nexus."

Harry stared at the lot of them, as if hoping that doing so would help him better understand all of what was just said. While their speech wasn't the most enlightening, just listening and observing them helped him draw a few conclusions. One, he was obviously back in America, so someone had either side-Apparated him or they had Portkeys lying around. Two, they knew about witches, but what else they were aware of was anyone's guess; he wasn't putting stock into whatever demon hypothesis they had going just yet. Though with the whole world having shifted and changed around him and this not being a dream, they just might know what they were talking about, even if he didn't. Three, being around the Weasleys for years had taught him a thing or two about family resemblance and he was willing to bet a bag of Sickles that these three were related one way or another. And, finally, they presented a united front – against him. However, they were also his only current source of information and he was still defenceless – his borrowed sword nowhere in sight. Something had to give.

Holding up his hands in a universal sign of surrender, Harry struggled to his feet. "Look, thank you for not letting me die I guess." He took a step forward and noticed the absence of his shoes as his mismatching socks scraped the thick brown rug. "But if I am to give you any answers, you really should explain a few -" He didn't finish the sentence because his next step had brought him to the perimeter of the crystal formation. To his astonishment magic flared in a dome, heavy and commanding, stopping his advance in its tracks and eliciting a startled yelp from the lost wizard.

_Our game, our rules indeed_.

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**TBC**

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**A/N**: Side notes on _Voldie's little helpers_: if I remember correctly Dolohov is the DE who killed Molly Weasely's brothers and is also the would-be assassin of Remus. The Carrow siblings are those DE's who take up 'teaching' positions at Hogwarts in 7th year when it has fallen into Voldemort's hands. And finally, Rookwood - as mentioned - operates in the Department of Mysteries, wherein – in this story – one of Voldie's Horcruxes resides.

On _Harry_: don't worry, he's still the same very average boy, he won't miraculously gain new powers or something. But he does come from a world where magic plays by different rules and I'm giving it a different consistency around those of great power to match. All Harry does is instinctively pick up on this difference, like you would notice a change in climate if you travelled from the desert to a jungle.

On _Charmed_ side: though this takes place in season 7, the Avatars will be mostly a past issue here as focus isn't on Leo and instead Zankou is dubbed villain of the season.


	4. Chapter 4

**Timeline**: Takes place in divergent HP 7th year, after the trip to Godric's Hollow, but before Ron came back. In Charmed timeline takes place during Season 7.

**Rating**: PG-13 for mild language

**Spoilers**: HP book 1-7, Charmed season 1-8.

**Disclaimer**: HP characters and situations belong to J.K. Rowling, as Charmed belongs to Constance M. Burge & WB.

**A/N**: Many thanks for the alerts and favs, especially the reviewers who keep me motivated and for sticking with this story despite the not-quite-planned temporary hiatus it's been through. I'm still amazed that people keep reading and I hope you enjoy this next part. I tried to get this beta'd for 3 weeks, but somehow it didn't work out. ^^; So, if you spot any typos, please be so kind as to point them out.

For your reading comfort: since seems to drag out sentences beyond regular marges, I suggest you use "Readability" (just Google it) on this page, that'll wrap things up. ;)

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**Part 4**

"_The next best thing to knowing something is knowing where to find it."_

- Samuel Johnson

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-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

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"Bright side?" the woman with short hair asked the others rhetorically, even as Harry stumbled back two paces to sink down unto the soft couch again. His action more prompted to try and come to terms with the whole situation and this new type of magic, than from the shocking magical feedback of the crystal-centred barrier that had just inexplicably zapped him.

These witches' credibility improved somewhat now that he had shed most of his scepticism towards this reality as whole: _before_ the caution existed that this might all be part of an illusionary world of Voldemort's making. After all, it seemed like Riddle had indeed elected Rowena's heirloom as one of his soul-anchoring trinkets, so it stood to reason that the piece of his soul trapped within would react to any intruders. The fact that he was breathing and not in mind bending agony (anymore) spoke to his stellar – if two-sided – luck, because really, what were the odds of confirming the identity of a Horcrux by _invading_ it?

However, Harry didn't like to dwell too much on the concept or any consequences it might have on his mind or soul in the end. Regardless, if this Horcrux could keep their bond intact across dimensions, then why did it not wreak more havoc on his perception of real versus fancy? In all truth, the idea was a frightful one, which would leave him with a case of paranoia to rival Mad-Eye at the very best. Yet there was hope, a thought that kept him grounded. Namely, that awing, untaintedmagic he'd briefly felt before waking up just now radically dispelled such a notion. The soothing magic had been a conduct of nothing but _light_ and positive, even caring life force. Harry could count the number of times he'd been on the receiving end of such a wonderful feeling on one hand and he was convinced Riddle was a complete stranger to it. As such, he was reasoning by that hypothesis that if it was unknown to the Dark Lord, it should be beyond his imagination and power to recreate. At least, Harry really hoped so. That gloomy, grey dimension from before now _that_ corresponded more with Voldemort's tastes. Well, it seemed a lot less dramatic than his usual style, to be sure, but it still dealt in Death, so... Yes, he was now convinced – being run through with a wicked sword had helped serve as a wake-up call too – that he found himself in _a_ reality with virtually no Tom-tagged strings attached.

Even as the Chosen One found his feet on the board game whose rules he didn't know, his hostesses were quite happy to continue their bantering without any external input. "Oh, I dare you." Just like that the mood of the one in charge had considerably soured, if the threat in her voice and narrowing eyes at her chipper relative were anything to go by.

Beaming, the first one continued as if she'd never been given reply. "Hear me out. I'm getting enough confusion – oh, and surprise – off of young Spartacus here," _Again with the nicknames, _Harry wondered, slightly perplexed, what their deal with that was. Not that the rest of what she was saying made much more sense. "That he's either being straight with us, or else someone set him up. He just might actually be our innocent."

The other threw her hands up in defeat. "Well, that's just great! The one day of the week that I really need to manage things at the club personally and we already have to keep looking over our shoulders for upper-level demonic forces and murder charges _this_ happens. I swear, if the manager of the band I booked for Saturday night cancels, I-"

"Aww, sweetie," Bright & Cheerful moved to put her arm around the tense one's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "Sooner or later-"

"Hi," the third woman took a seat opposite Harry, apparently content to ignore the emotions running high in the background and bringing the wizard's focus onto her. "I'm Paige, by the way. Those are my sisters: Piper," she gestured to the uptight one, "and the empath is Phoebe. Now, I know this whole 'wiccan ways' thing can be overwhelming." The sarcastic tone Paige adopted at the magic bit of her explanation was obviously for his sake. Harry thought she sounded like she anticipated his denial of the existence of magic. "So I'm just gonna give you some basics, then you tell me how you got your butt into this mess and we'll get you back to your normal life A.S.A.P., okay?"

The young wizard couldn't help the derisive snort he gave at the thought that any part of his life could be counted as 'normal', but nodded since she seemed sincere enough and he really wanted some useful, comprehensible answers.

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-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

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A different dimension governed by completely foreign laws of magic and a hierarchical order of good and evil forces. A world where Voldemort didn't exist, but many worse a terror did. The half-Whitelighter, Paige, wasn't exaggerating when she'd cautioned it would be a lot to take in. Of course, he deduced the main aspects of the situation on his own, but to see his theories confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt and expanded in ways beyond his imagination was still a lot to swallow.

Harry felt rather numbed by the information overload he'd finally gained from these sisters as he mentally catalogued his options. It caused him to tune out most of the women's – the most powerful witches of their time, if they were to be believed – own conversation as they sorted out their personal problems. Part of their method he understood: the bit where, in a very Hermione-like fashion, 'light' reading about evil forces, spatial tears in the fabric of reality and who knew what else was employed. The second, the 'girl herd'-mentality part that involved lots of talking in circles without coming to any decisions, he was - thankfully - less familiar with. So, in short, – he sank further back onto the pillow-strewn sofa, as implications of his latest escapade truly sank in – he was still helpless and stranded in unknown, perilous territory. The Blessed trio before him might be his best bet at getting back to his surrogate family.

For a brief moment he took the time to appreciate the fact that here, in this world, he was…completely free. And what a foreign notion that was. No Dark Lord – at least not as a physical threat – or his morally eschewed followers. No fame or infamy. And last but not least, no nigh impossible expectations. There was nothing more or less than an unexplored magical/Muggle melting pot of potential waiting right beyond the front door to be discovered. To the wizarding world's Undesirable No. 1 nothing had ever been as tempting. There were worse places to wind up. Even as he entertained – just momentarily – the notion of being 'stuck' in this world, he knew he couldn't be that selfish. He couldn't _not_ try his utmost to get back and fix things as soon as possible. He vividly remembered the supportive graffiti at Godric's Hollow and his schoolmates' underground resistance radio broadcasts. Regardless of whether staying in this dimension would have been an option or not, he simply could not abandon so many people to the fate Riddle was meting out. Any chance of harmless adventure for a change or a shot at personal happiness would have to wait until either Tom or he himself was six feet under. With that sobering thought, he focused his attention back on the Charmed Ones.

The leader, Piper, was pacing while handing out instructions to Paige, now that the latter had finished expounding her crash course and had listened to the few bits about himself Harry had been willing, mostly obliged, to share. "-And last time I checked we were running low on wormwood for a protection spell, so if you could orb over to the garden center and pick up some more?"

With a nod and a word the one addressed handed the green leather-bound tome (she must have gone and got it during the few minutes he was lost in thought and now his personal inner May-Eye was berating his lack of situational awareness) over to the third sister and disappeared in a nimbus of bluish-white light that Harry vaguely recalled having spotted before passing out in the woods earlier. The middle sister – what was her name again? He sure it was also something with a 'P'. Introductions simply hadn't seemed that important compared to all the questions he had roaming around the inside of his skull. She was turning the page of the current calligraphic entry. Harry cocked his head to catch a glimpse of upside-down information on Scather Demons: _low level beings, operate in packs, powers of energy balls and_ – thick parchment covered the more of the same handwritten script replaced that intelligence with quickly turning flashes of illustrations, the occasional name of some evil or another and the title of a spell or two. _A spell for tempering with memories? That might come in handy at some point_. And then his attention was diverted once more.

"Right, so Paige is getting our defences up to snuff. You find anything to send _him_ back, Pheebs?" Piper seemed to take personal affront at Harry's presence in her life, something he had years of experience with from his blood relatives. "He can't stay here. He'll end up caught in the crossfire before the day is out at the rate we've been going. And with the cops still after his sorry backside…" _Ah, that's right. _He knew he'd forgotten something. The Muggles were still out for blood. Well, figuratively. That was a small mercy. What if he would have ended up here during the witch trails? Phoebe – now he remembered – hummed noncommittally, still speed-reading. "How about we take him to Magic School?" she queried.

"With Wyatt and Chris there? Are you crazy, woman?" Harry swore Mrs. Weasley's temper had nothing on this aggravated Wiccan.

Her sister looked unperturbed. "Leo is with them. Come on, if you can't trust your hubby with the kids..."

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-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

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It wasn't about trust, Harry decided. He was simply not used to relying on others for help, since – looking back at his record – the 'adults' in a position to help either could never be bothered, didn't believe him, or his way to solve a mystery was just faster. Besides, he was of-age now and more than capable of resolving his own problems. At least, in theory. These were extenuating circumstances after all.

This was the reason he was secluded in a corner of the crammed library of Magic School – which genius came up with that name? Not that Hogwarts was a name to boost about, but at least it had peculiarity going for it. Books of all shapes and sizes, some dusty enough to leave smudged fingerprints on their covers others more worn by frequent and recent handling, formed a makeshift low wall around him. While he appreciated the Charmed Ones' help, he didn't want to completely rely on them for the answers he sought. Besides, he could look at things from an angle unknown to them, which might help in this new quest of his. Another reason he preferred to work alone at the moment had more to do with his new side-quest. Simply put: wondering around this brave new world without any means with which to defend himself was driving him to distraction. He had initially hoped to temporarily borrow one of this school's wands. The problem was that he had yet to encounter anyone with a wand on his or her person.

Fortunate coincidence would have it that this Leo person had been beseeched by his wife to mind their sons instead of hovering around the 'new charge'. This way Harry could browse the library to his heart's content, having been granted permission to expand his knowledge of this magical realm by acting Headmistress Paige (Harry had at that point reached his quota of befuddling revelations for one day, thank you very much), without worrying over potentially meddlesome authority figures. His current research however had pointed out one major setback to his wand obtaining plan. Apparently true wand using wizards as he was familiar with were not only absent from this school; they were all but extinct in this time and place. So now his search had shifted from wizards who might not miss a spare wand for a day or two to wands savaged from the brutal curve ball history had thrown the predominantly 'evil' wizardkind. Somehow, however, he doubted as he closed another volume in mild annoyance that this quite new edition of '_Wiles of Wandwaving Weirdoe_s' was going to be of much use.

His skimming of the fourth chapter from '_Circe to the Miko: An Index of Historical Foci_' was suddenly interrupted by a glint of reflective light, a rush of air displacement right by his left ear and the dull twang of an object embedding itself in the wood of the tall bookshelf at Harry's back. A quick sideways glance confirmed it to be a gleaming dagger of some sort and, jumping to his feet, Harry scanned his surroundings for his new assailant.

"Boy, aren't you just a bundle of nerves," An unremarkable frizzed blonde in what he'd quickly dubbed as teacher robes, since only the staff seemed to wear any spoke up as she stepped into full view. Harry scowled. Teacher robes or not, this woman's conduct clashed brutally with her otherwise docile appearance. It reeked of a sham to Harry, not to mention the potential threat she could pose. The Boy-Who-Lived had long since shed the opinion that teachers intrinsically meant students no harm. Therefore he didn't waste time in reaching beside him for the thrown dagger-like object to wiggle and pry it free (fortunately it wasn't lodged too deep) so that he could point in at the unknown before him. His stance shifted into defensive and ready to duck or slash as the woman relaxed and laughed. "At least you're not too slow on the uptake. Maybe you ain't half bad, McGeek." And in the blink of an eye the ditty woman's form blended into that of a teenage boy with attitude. Harry's rough estimate was that the bloke might be a year or two his junior. "Name's Slick by the way. Your style could use some work, but at least you're not a complete loss. So, are the rumors true, newbie?"

Harry had a brief flashback to Malfoy's self-introduction at the beginning of first year, minus the posh behaviour. "What rumour would that be?"

"That there's an actual, real wizard at Magic School. I've been looking around just now. So far, you're the only new face around here, but you're also like freshman compared to those old geezers. It was a toss-up," the teen shrugged, in his best '_I don't give a damn about anything, no matter what it looks like_' posture. "Decided to test the waters and here we are. So, are you just a waste of my time or what?"

The very real wizard couldn't help but smirk at the challenge this guy who was most like a blend of a Malfoy with balls and recklessness of the twins (and wasn't _that_ a scary thought) set. "Or what."

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-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

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"So here's the deal, right?" Slick had told him conspiratorially, he included his classmates Quinton and Herman in a circular gesture now that the four of them were gathered in an unused classroom. Only some books, thick spinach green candles, smoky crystals, salt, a potion vial filled with a vibrant purple goo and a lot of dust motes kept them company. "We help you get a wand; you help us with this one gig."

Before agreeing – hard as it was to admit, he was out of his depth and apparently this boy and his mates were taking Advanced Magic classes – he had stipulated some conditions to the pact. "I won't maim, kill or extort, are we clear?" and was called a drama queen for his efforts.

"Remember," The well-read boy of the group cautioned Harry, "I don't know what you're used to, but here magic is all about intention. Forget about wands. You'll be pitching your will and inherent magic against a stronger opponent, so it's all about focus."

The wizard nodded and so the shapeshifter, conjurer and levitator set up their summoning circle with surprising meticulousness. Harry observed the practised ease to their motions and wondered out loud if they performed this summoning a lot. Quinton shook his head, "Nah, it's just we learned summoning in our second year of magic study, so this is basic enough my little cousin could do it and he's ten." Harry took a moment to digest this information. When _he_ had been ten, he hadn't even known magic existed. It made him somewhat inadequate in comparison.

"Don't forget," Slick drilled Harry as he motioned them into various positions around the crystal circle after Herman lit the candles that formed an outer ring around it, "Don't screw up. You screw up your part and this will all be for nothing. Got it?"

Rolling his eyes at being bossed around by the kid, Harry still nodded. "Ready when you are." This earned him looks of approval at last. Then the trio took up a chant that seemed like a powerless rhyme to the wizard, except he would feel the magic in the air responding. It thickened, almost solidified in the circle of crystals, where a contained mini twister formed and then there was an unmistakable pull beyond the room. A tall figure materialized in the centre of the vortex, slowly becoming more distinct.

Quint, still chanting with the other two to keep the summoned being contained, signalled Harry to do his part. In turn the Chosen One redirected the warlock's attention to himself by throwing the potion vial at his opponent's feet and saying the spell the others had made him memorize. Having just seen one of their 'spells' work, he no longer doubted their validity and spoke the prose with enough conviction that potion and spell together jump-started the warlock's vanquish.

The tricky part for Harry now lay in breaking the circle at just the right time to snatch the wand from the evil wizard's grasp before it too burned out, yet not before their foe was weakened enough to not offer much resistance as he still did now. Harry could see the cold sweat beading on the trio's foreheads at their containing magic, amplified by the crystal (the candle circle had been used for the calling forth portion of spellwork) vying with the raw, tainted energy the warlock was putting out in his struggle to stay in this plane of existence and survive.

Not sure of the right timing, but seeing the wand wielder's torso catch fire too, Harry made his bid. He broke the circle by toeing a crystal out of place, then reached and grasped the foreign wand with his left hand while with his right he stabbed the athame he'd held onto into the warlock's wrist. The burning one's grip did indeed slacken after tightening in a spasm and Harry thought he'd won as he wrenched the wand free. The feeling of the wand's dormant magic, so different from the warm glow of his old holy and phoenix feather one, distracted him as it mingled with his own magical core. The engulfing sensation of hot and cold, of various scents and feelings engulfed him as the warlock brought his other magic and will to bear. This still older form of duelling, of raw will to ply magical energy from within and without had long since been a trick of trade for his opponent and now his agony sharpened his attack to a spear point. Just as he lashed out at the wand stealer (a hypocritical statement to make, but then that was his nature), much to the alarm of the Magic School students, the heavy oak door burst open.

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**TBC**

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**A/N**: Just wanted to clear up that I'm using British English spellcheck, since these events are witnessed from Harry's POV. But of course the lines from the Charmed cast are said (and thus written) in American English. Hope to clears that up. If you're still reading this and you'd like to give feedback, please feel free to review.


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